


no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

by fathomless



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Handmaid's Tale, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Mentions of Suicide, Pregnancy, Protective Bellamy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Secret Relationship, Shit Gets Dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-08-27 01:07:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16692475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fathomless/pseuds/fathomless
Summary: “It’s okay, I’m here. Whatever it is, you’ll get through it. We will,” he murmured with what felt like a kiss against the top of her head. She found herself melting further into him, trying to calm the still racing beat of heart. Rather than simply lingering around the edges, brown, a deep, warm variation of the color, now began to weave its way into her soul.Her world was still red, and yet, with him as her anchor, she no longer found herself drowning in it.





	1. Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> Although this is heavily inspired by The Handmaid's Tale, you don't have to know anything about that series to read this. However, if you haven’t seen/read the series, just know that it does deal with dark subject matter. P.S., the name they call her is pronounced “of Finn.” On that note... enjoy and be sure to let me know what you think! :)

Red.

All she saw was red.

The red of the blood staining her hands as she screamed for help within the crowd as they rioted, shots fired from all around like they were worth nothing, as though they were expendable. Perhaps, according to the new laws, they were… or, at least, she was. After all, she was only a woman. Worthy of bearing children for the men residing over the government and their barren wives who couldn’t do so on their own; not love, not affection, not even a life worth living.

They were no longer people; they were property.

The red of the graffiti against the walls surrounding the city. _We Will Resist._ Only, with their resistance came a price, their bodies hanged along that very wall the day they were found. Perpetrators, rebels. Their words were used in a way which they hadn’t anticipated, their bodies used as symbols in the deliverance of a message from the very people they were resisting in the first place.

_Don’t resist._

The red of the sun diving below the horizon behind her as it set the evening she left, with the intention of making it to Canada, a dream which she had almost been able to grasp, was so close, but slipped out of her fingers before she was able to do so, inevitably coming up short. If only she had been smarter, if only she hadn’t trusted the wrong people.

The red of the lights flashing behind her that fateful night.

The red of the dress covering her body, neck to ankle, that same crimson hue of the blood which stained the top of her ear the day they had clamped a GPS tracker onto it. The cloak which had been tied around her neck, obscuring her, ridding her of the freedom she had once had, forcing her to conform with the rest of them. None of them were free anymore, they likely never would be again.

The dress was stiff, heavy enough she felt as though she couldn’t breathe within its confines.  

Or, perhaps, that was because of everything else.

Void of color, the pure white bonnet covering her head, hair tied up underneath, hid her from outside viewers. It also hid the peripheral outside from her, yet another minuscule aspect of life they had managed to take away from her.

She walked along the cracked sidewalk, the woman deemed her shopping partner by her side, their steps synchronized as they’d learned to do, making it easier to walk as a pair. They were told to go everywhere in pairs of two, claimed it was for their protection, but she was knew that wasn’t the real reason. Here, there were no friends, no looking out for each other. They were simply meant to spy on one another, watch their every move in the case that they needed to be questioned. Though their steps were synchronized, their priorities were not. Guards stood stationed on each street, straight faced and heavy stares unrelenting. They spoke for the government, representing the lack of freedom, watching the every move of those like Clarke.

 _Do one thing wrong, and to The Colonies you go. You don’t want that, now, do you?_ A voice in her head sounding eerily similar to one of the women from the training centers spoke. _Indra, that was her name._ She could still feel the leather of the whip gliding across her skin, hitting when she least expected it, menacing words whispered into her ear by the women in charge, looming above her. She suppressed a shudder at the thought.

Birds chirped in the distance, flying free amongst the clouds in the sky, or settled upon branches in the trees above them. At least they had the freedom to do so.

_Maybe they were next._

“Nice weather we’ve been sent,” the girl beside her spoke finally, albeit shakily, for fear of saying the wrong thing. She nodded in response.

“Yes, I welcome it graciously.” She rolled her eyes at her own response, sounding as though it had come from an automated voice, a robot, rather than from her own mouth. But she knew that it was the best response, the only acceptable one… The only safe one.

“I hear discussions among the council are going well.”

“Praise be.” Silence, a glance in each direction to be sure they weren’t being watched, and then, a hushed tone, “What’s your name? Your actual name.”

“Monroe.” She fidgeted with her hands, glancing to the concrete below them, patches of grass growing up through the cracks. “What’s yours?”

“I’m Clarke.”

Clarke. Her name was Clarke. Not what everyone surrounding her referred to her as, merely an object owned. Offinn, a name uttered with disdain, with superiority accompanied by the common knowledge that she was not of the same worth they were. She wondered, at times, if they even viewed her as a human, or if it was as though they were glancing down upon a worn, beaten inanimate object, already falling apart at the seams. An object useful in being viewed, in being touched if desired, but not worth a second glance otherwise.

She was not Offinn, nor was she any other name they deemed her. She was Clarke.

“You’re with the Collinses?” She nodded in response. “I’ve heard they’re… nice.” _Nice._ Perhaps it had become a synonym for headache inducing, unbeknownst to her.

“Yes,” she lied. “I’m very grateful.”

The walk to the grocery store from the house she resided in was approximately a mile and a half, not nearly long enough for her liking. Outside, the bricks of the building were cracked, lights in the sign to the side of the store beginning to flicker, falling apart just as everything around it was as well. Just as she was. Automated, the doors opened once the two of them stepped close enough, enveloping them in the pristine white of the store’s interior, very much unlike anything else they knew. It was clean enough to appear untouched, a feeling of shame arising at each footstep down the aisles, each item touched. She almost worried she would leave an undesired mark of filth whenever her fingertips grazed across the objects aligning the shelves.

Red covered the surface of the area, others like her scattered about in doing their weekly shopping, marring the store like the droplets of blood which had covered the tiling of her kitchen floor last Thanksgiving, Wells accidentally slicing his finger with a knife designated for chopping vegetables.

She wondered where he was now, if he was okay.

It was quiet within the space, each footfall easily heard if you were paying attention. Filling her basket with as many apples as she could (their Martha, a woman named Harper, planned to make a pie, requesting she brought them home if possible), she briefly marveled at the irony of the moment. Eyeing the color of the apple held within her head, she suppressed a laugh. “Blessed be the fruit,” she muttered, not quite loud enough for any passerby to hear since they were alone in this part. Monroe eyed her briefly, gaze flitting away to the other side of the display they were stood in front of.

“Do you care if we take the scenic route home?” She whispered to the girl after they finished gathering their items. _Scenic,_ or in other words, the longer way back.

“Are you sure that’s-” Monroe whispered, gripping tightly onto her bag.

“If anyone asks, we just wanted fresh air. The area along the river is the perfect way to get it, if you ask me,” she replied of equal volume, no louder than their footsteps against the cracked pavement. This part of town was rundown, grass growing up through spaces between the concrete of the sidewalk, buildings abandoned and beginning to fall apart.

She tried making it seem as though she were glancing at the ground, watching her feet, but snuck glances over to the water on her right, a mere fifty feet away at most.

The wives of the men in charge wore blue, a deep color resembling that of the water she had settled her gaze upon. The comparison of the two was almost enough to make her stomach churn. How a single color represented both the epitome freedom and that of oppression at the same time was something she figured she would never be able to understand.

To her other side was the wall, daunting in its height alone, but also because of what it meant. Flitting her eyes over, they caught upon the bodies of three who were deemed perpetrators hanging along the length of the wall at various heights. One was bloodied. All three had bags placed over their faces in order to conceal their identities, as if the entire town hadn’t already known who they were by way of gossip.

She had heard the stories, knew what was punishable, but it seemed to her, there was hardly room to breathe without wondering if you would be next. Her heart clenched at the thought of the people those three had left behind. And yet, if she were being honest, she wasn’t so sure returning to the Collinses’ was a much more desirable fate than spending time along the wall with the perpetrators.

_It’s possible that was where she would end up one day regardless._

Of course, even the scenic route had to end at some point, and she found the house coming into view entirely too soon. (She wouldn’t refer to it as her house, no. It was theirs-- the Collinses’. She would never be one of them, would never wish to be.)

“Wait-” The girl beside her grabbed her arm none too gently before they could approach the house any further. “There’s something I have to tell you.” Their steps slowed slightly so as to delay coming within earshot of anyone else.

“What is it?” She urged her on, hand moving to the bowtie which secured the cloak around her.

_Maybe if she was lucky, she could figure out how to tie it tight enough one day that she’d strangle herself._

“You’re being watched.” Confusion dawned upon her, then, “There’s an Eye in your house.”

Eyes were secret police, responsible for keeping law and order in place. The worst part? Anyone could be one and you’d never know. 

“How do you-”

“Trust me, I have my ways of knowing. Just be careful,” she warned.

Heart beginning to race as the words reached her ears, blood pumping harder through her veins, she took in a breath, not wanting to appear disarrayed.

Reaching the gates, she stepped away from Monroe, tilting her head up enough to give the girl a small upturn of her lips. Eyes dull despite the spark she’d imagined them to have once had, she returned the sentiment.

Stiffly, voice void of emotion, a saying she’d quoted more times than she was able to keep count, “Under his eye.”

"Under his eye.”

Unlatching the gate, she watched as Monroe began to head in the direction she had previously came from, and wondered if she would see her again. Though only a short time between shopping trips, she had been granted three different partners within the past two months, left unsure of what had happened to her previous ones. For all she knew, they could have been sent to the Colonies, left to clean toxic waste, where the air alone was polluted enough to cause death, she had once been told.

The house before her was large, victorian style, yet daunting nonetheless with its dark colors and appearing void of life from where she viewed it outside. Steadying the shaking of her hands, she pressed down on the latch of the front door, opening it easily enough it wouldn’t creak, alerting everyone in the household of her presence. They would know she had returned soon enough, after all.

Each miniscule sound echoed throughout the house despite it being heavily (and fancily) furnitured. A Grandfather clock ticked away against the far wall of the hallway as she trod quietly to the kitchen to store away all she had brought home. She suppressed the urge to jump at the sight of Harper standing at the island in the center of the room, already beginning to prepare dinner.

“Did you enjoy your trip?” She didn’t look up from the bowl on the counter, too focused stirring its contents.

Clarke swallowed, placing the bag of apples on the counter. “Very much so, yes. Thank you for asking.”

“It took you quite awhile, much longer than usual. Are you sure that’s the only place you went, Offin?”

She closed her eyes, turning to face the woman who had entered the room-- Mrs. Collins, although she and Mr. Collins both assured her it was more than okay to refer to her as her maiden name instead.

“Yes, Mrs. Reyes.” She locked into the print of dirt her boot had left against the floor.

“Look at me when I speak to you. You didn’t go elsewhere?” She did as told, not wanting to face the consequences otherwise, meeting the deep brown eyes of the woman in front of her. She wasn’t always unkind. In fact, at times, she was almost nice. She supposed it was only because of the fact that Mrs. Reyes wanted a baby, and knew Clarke was the only way she would be able to have one.

Or, well, the only way she would be able to possess one in taking a baby that was not rightfully hers.

“No, Mrs. Reyes.”

“Good. You’re a smart girl, Offin. I think you know what would happen if you lied to me, if you had went somewhere other than where you were told.” She blinked away at the stinging behind her eyes. Weakness wasn’t an option. Mrs. Reyes strutted slowly over to the other side of the counter, beside Harper. “Smells good,” she commented.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“The ceremony’s tonight,” she spoke slowly, walking closer to Clarke. “Be sure you’re ready and in the chambers by eight o’clock.”

Clarke attempted to will away a shudder at the mention of the ceremony, not dreading it any less than she had the times before. She couldn’t show that, though, no. To everyone else, she was to appear willing, excited to create new life.

If only it were that easy to appear so.

“Yes ma’am.”

As Mrs. Reyes left the room, Harper looked up from her work, giving her a sympathetic smile. She knew it was meant to be comforting, but it made her feel small, even smaller than she’d already felt beforehand.

Clarke’s eyes continued to sting, and yet, the tears she had been waiting for never arrived.

* * *

The hands clasped around her wrists were cold, almost enough she wished to pull away, yet knew she couldn’t. On her back, she was settled uncomfortably between the other woman’s legs, wrists pinned down with fingers held tightly around them.

Above her, the woman silently prayed for them receive new life.

Her own legs were spread open, underwear the only garment removed, leaving her bare for all who entered the room to see.

She felt worthless.

He began to fuck her moments later, skirt hitched up to her waist whilst he remained fully clothed, only his pants unzipped, allowing quick movements of his hips against hers. She closed her eyes, hoping for it to be over soon. It wasn’t pleasurable, not in any sense of the word, and he wasn’t to touch her in any way other than clinically. She figured, even if he did, it wouldn’t matter - nothing he did could demean her any further.

His hands sat on the bed placed on either side of her hips, supporting himself as he began to further quicken the pace of his thrusts, moving deeper inside of her. His hair, somewhat greasy, fell into his eyes, and she felt trapped, but it wasn’t a situation she could back out of - it was law, a matter of life or death.

She knew he was close when he began to lose his rhythm, thrusts becoming mindless, only a handful more necessary for him to get there.

His wife’s ring dug painfully into the side of her wrist as he came with a low groan, hot rush of fluid filling her, and with it all went away another piece of her fractured soul. The sound of a zipper being pulled up, the closing of the door across the room… he always left immediately after, never one to stay and face the damage done.

She stared at the ceiling, making no moves, not even to reach for her underwear, sat on the other side of the bed. Mrs. Reyes dropped her wrists as if in disgust, scooting further away from her, breaking their bond - they were no longer one.

“Get out,” the woman whispered, sharp. Clarke sat up slowly, choosing to look at the ground rather than turning to face her. When there was no move made to leave, her voice raised, “I said, ‘get the hell out.’ Now.”

“But I-”

_"Out.”_

She didn’t allow herself to breathe until she reached her room, leaning back against the old wooden door once it had slid shut. Sinking to the cold hardwood floor, she wrapped her arms around herself in a hug, trying to bring about a comfort she hadn’t felt in months, one that could only be provided by the touch of another person.

If she didn’t comfort herself, no one else around here would. It was lonely, excruciatingly so, even with the people around her. None of them cared about her, they only cared about the possibility of the life she could bring. To them, she was nothing in comparison, simply a way of reaching their end goal.

It was often she found herself wondering what life would be like had it remained normal, the way it used to be. Would she still be working for the same company? Would she have found love again, this time in someone who loved her the same? What would her relationship with her mother be like if she hadn’t voted in favor of the new laws, the ones which put her here? She couldn’t let herself linger on those questions for long, the deafening silence of the room around her in comparison to all of the people, all of the love she once had almost enough to drive her insane.

She felt the urge to cry, but couldn’t give them the satisfaction of breaking, of them being what broke her. No... she _wouldn’t._

“Don’t cry,” she whispered to herself, barely loud enough to hear as she began to slowly rock back and forth, arms squeezing tighter against herself. She could feel his cum still inside her, beginning to leak out, but her insides felt numb, the sting behind her eyes nearly nonexistent now. “You’re strong, you can do it. You won’t be here forever.” _You’ll find a way out and be reunited with Wells, and the two of you will escape this Hell and go to Canada._  

_You can be Clarke again to the outside world someday._

Using the wall as leverage, she stood, walking over to the window on the far side of the room, facing the street outside. Wiping a hand down her face, she took a breath, releasing it slowly.

She’d be okay. At least, she hoped she would be.

Once she’d changed and gotten into bed, thoughts of the future, the hope of one day being herself again, were enough to lull her to sleep almost immediately.

* * *

The oatmeal she ate the next morning was bland in comparison to the fruit she usually had, but the last time she’d went shopping all she was told to purchase had been apples sufficient enough to make pie. The glass of orange juice beside her was enough to almost make up for it, though, she’d supposed.

Harper stood at the counter in the kitchen behind her, humming to herself as she cleaned up the mess she’d made fixing breakfast. Clarke wondered sometimes if she ever felt the same way she did, if she ever had thoughts of a better life outside of these walls, thousands of miles away.

Light streamed in through the windows surrounding her, dining room doubling as a conservatory of sorts. One of the glass doors leading out to the patio opened abruptly, startling her, the harsh October wind following it in.

“I have to be at the conference center 5:30 at the latest, just make sure to prepare for traffic.” She suppressed a shudder at the sound of the man’s voice, suddenly finding her food much more interesting than she had previously. “Good morning,” he directed at her, smiling in an attempt to appear friendly.

“Good morning, sir.” Her voice was weak, and she took a drink of juice from the chipped glass to her right. “Have a blessed day,” she added for good measure, feeling slightly queasy as the words left her mouth.

_If it were up to her, he’d be rotting in Hell. Or, if at all possible, worse._

He didn’t acknowledge her further, stepping past with ease. “Harper, would you come with me for a moment? There’s something I needed to show you.”

“Yes, sir.”

She looked up from her bowl once their footsteps became almost inaudible, finding her gaze met with that of another’s, deep brown eyes focused on her intently. Out of habit, she glanced away.

“You having a good day so far?” Then, after she hadn’t realized he was talking to her, he stepped closer, leaning against the side of the table.  “Well, in that case. I hope you do,” he said, pitched low so no one aside from the two of them could hear. His voice was deep, enough so that it nearly made her shiver. But above all, it was _kind,_ something she was no longer accustomed to.

Rather than replying, too afraid of what she’d end up saying if she did, she simply nodded, raising her gaze again just in time to see the beginnings of a soft smile playing on his lips. Finding it all too easy, she returned the gesture, but it felt almost foreign to her by that point.

He ran a hand through his hair, already a mess of curls, like it always was, then motioned for her to hold out her hand. Looking to each doorway briefly, he reassured her, barely audible, “It’s okay.” Shakily, she did as instructed, fingers outstretched almost as if in preparation to receive something.

The tips of his fingers brushed her palm and she tried her best not to shudder at the touch as he placed one of the apples she’d purchased only yesterday gently in her hand.

“Fruit,” he smirked, lingering only momentarily prior to turning to walk away. Before he could get too far, though, she mustered up the courage to twist in her chair, fingers grasping gently at his.

A beat of silence.

“Thank you.” She smiled genuinely then for the first time in, well, she couldn’t remember how long it had been. His seemed to only grow in response.

“Don’t worry about it,” and then, he was gone.

Tears built behind her eyes as she turned back around, apple clutched to her chest. But this time, they were for a different reason.

The truth was, she didn’t know Bellamy Blake very well. In fact, she didn’t know him at all aside from brief greetings and an occasional, “good morning,” when she passed him outside or in one of the hallways of the house. She knew he worked for Mr.Collins, that he stayed in the guesthouse in the garden out back, but aside from that, he was nearly a stranger, a silhouette among the walls.

He was mysterious, in the way she didn’t think most people were. It was in the way he rarely ever spoke if not spoken to, no matter whom it concerned, the way he never stuck around in one room for long. He didn’t offer up much of himself to anyone, whether it be on purpose or simply a character trait. It was as though he was a closed book, able to be admired but never to be read.

And he intrigued her.

In that moment, she wished to be able to know him better, but knew wishes were of no worth. She’d never be able to, no, but she’d forever cherish the kindness he’d shown to her, the minute she’d felt almost as though she meant something to someone.

Rather than eating it then, she held onto the fruit, setting it out of sight for anyone else so that she could take it when she decided to return to her room.

Harper returned moments later as she was placing her dishes in the sink, frown etched upon her features.

“Are you okay?” She asked, turning off the faucet. The woman nodded in return, but her eyebrows furrowed, eyes glistening with tears, before she spoke again.

“I had a husband,” she whispered. “before… everything. A son, too.”

Clarke froze. Hesitantly, then, “Had?” Harper wouldn’t meet her eyes, grip on the counter voiding her knuckles of color. Her dress was arguably the same olive green as the walls of the room, and yet, it appeared so much moor dull.

“My husband, he was a chemist- he was… the most peaceful person I knew. A pacifist, you could say. His name was Monty.” She took a breath. “He didn’t know anything about fighting in a war, he didn’t even support the war. He was healthy, though, and he met the age requirement, and they didn’t deem his job important enough for it to be any sort of excuse.” Clarke stayed silent. “A few months after he left, there was a headline about something that had went wrong. A bomb, or some other attack they hadn’t expected, I can’t remember. I just hoped and prayed that he wasn’t involved, that he’d be able to come home to me, and to Jordan, even if he wasn’t the same.”

“I’m so-”

“Guards showed up at my door the next day, and I knew… I knew he hadn’t made it before they’d even said anything. Everything was okay, there for a second, but then they grabbed me, so hard I had bruises for nearly a week. I knew what was happening, but all I could do was scream, tell them I had a son, and that they couldn’t take me. They did, anyway.” Clarke placed a hand gently on her shoulder as the woman wiped away at the tears that had begun to fall steadily down her face despite her obvious attempts at stopping them.

Only then did Clarke realize that Marthas were supposed to be both infertile and unmarried. Unable to stop herself, Clarke whispered, “But I thought Marthas were…” trailing off instead of finishing the question. Harper sniffed, nodding once.

“I had a lot of health problems when I was pregnant, so I decided that one child was enough, that we’d love him so much it didn’t matter whether we had any more, because having another wasn’t worth all of the risks involved, not when I already had him to worry about,” she finished, laughing bitterly. “And, well, I’m not exactly married anymore, am I?”

“I’m so sorry, I-” The pair straightened, stepping apart, Harper trying to make herself look acceptable as they heard the familiar click of heels approaching.

Mrs. Reyes entered the room, smiling widely. “Good morning, girls,” she spoke, still appropriate, but voice without the hard edge it usually carried. “I’ll be out for most of the day with some of the other wives, but Bellamy and Finn will both be around somewhere if you need anything.” She paused. “Don’t think this gives you an excuse to act up, you both know the rules. You won’t get off easier than you do any other time if you break them,” the familiar tone crept back into her voice. Stiffly, “Now, if you’ll excuse me. Have a nice day.”

Upon hearing the front door shut, Clarke turned to Harper.

“Nice to see she hasn’t lost her touch,” Harper joked.

“Yeah.” Then, mind drifting back to their previous conversation, “I’m so sorry about your husband, and you son, I wish all of that hadn’t-”

“There’s no point in wishing it had all gone differently,” she straightened, walking over to one of the cabinets near the sink. “The past is the past, we can’t change it. I just wish I knew where Jordan was now, whether he’s okay.”

“Have you asked?” She watched as Harper stiffened slightly, something she would have missed had she been paying any less attention. Fortunately, she hadn’t.

“No, and I don’t plan on doing so, either.” Clarke looked down at the tile beneath her, thinking briefly of the people she’d lost. Her own story seemed to pale in comparison to Harper’s, making her feel guilty for thinking so often about how terrible her own situation was. There were others in situations much worse than hers, she figured, and she had selfishly neglected to think of them. “I know they probably know he exists, but… I don’t want them to have anything more they can use against me. They already have too much, they don’t need to know about the person I love most being out there somewhere, a defenseless, clueless, _beautiful_ child.”

“They all think love is weakness,” Clarke murmured. Checking any entry points and listening momentarily for sounds indicating someone was near, she moved carefully over to Harper, rubbing a hand lightly along her arm. “We’ll figure something out. I don’t know when, or what, but one day… you and I will both find our way out of here.”

“Here?” Harper questioned weakly.

As low as possible, “This house, the country. There’s nowhere safe in Arkadia, we both know that. It would be best to get as far away as possible.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly before she agreed, “Okay.”

She retreated to her room minutes later, deciding it be best if Harper had some time alone, it likely wouldn’t be long before her assistance was required elsewhere.

Her bedroom was always cold. Not the kind you could easily shield yourself from with the use of thick clothing and blankets, but the kind of cold that was enough to perpetrate through it all, seemingly to your bones. She always theorized that sitting on the window seat, overlooking the neighborhood outside was enough to warm her when all else failed, even if only slightly.

Perhaps the only reason it seemed to warm her was that it made her feel less trapped.

Her mother came to mind as she watched the sun high in the sky, reminding her of all of the times they’d went to the park when she was younger, right before sunset, for no reason other than to watch it happen in an open space without their view being hindered. She had loved her mother, so much that, at times, she wasn’t sure what to do with all of it. Times like these she was left wondering, all too often, whether her mother had loved her the same.

Being on the council wasn’t easy, Clarke knew that without a second of doubt. Voting in favor of the death of your husband, or voting in favor of removing every human right which not only belonged to your daughter, but yourself, women in general? That shouldn’t have been easy, either. To her mother, though, it didn’t seem she had to think twice in order to reach a decision for either.

She averted her eyes from the view outside, moving to the apple in her hand. She felt silly for wanting to treasure it how she was, knowing she couldn’t. It would become putrid before long, and like all other good things in life, she would have to let it go.

Looking at it made her feel close to him, almost. To Bellamy. Simply knowing that he’d thought of her was enough to make her heart feel close to bursting, even more so because he didn’t know her, and he’d still done so. She was just as much a stranger to him as he was to her, enough so that he didn’t cross her mind aside from whenever he was near (or, well, he _hadn’t,_ before).

She thought of the way in which he had watched her earlier, the softness of his gaze, the easy smile adorning his features. He was beautiful, a mixture of hard and soft features, tanned skin and dark eyes, even darker hair. Her fingers itched to be able to place him on paper, whether it be in pencil or paint. Except, she wasn’t even able to do that.

The laws didn’t allow women to do much of anything, and perhaps what she hated most about that particular one was that she wasn’t able to do so much as draw, even innocently. She longed for the once familiar weight of a paintbrush in her hand, swirling color along a canvas. She longed to swirl together colors which would inevitably create him, the picture of beauty, the provider of kindness, even if in small doses.

As if able to sense she was thinking about him, the man himself appeared in her doorway, knocking twice in an effort to announce his presence.

She put the apple down, flushing despite her best efforts not to as she stood from the window.

“Is there something you need?” She asked, knowing he wasn’t there for chitchat. He wasn’t allowed to be.

He cleared his throat before stepped fully into the room, still leaving the door open. “Collins is in a meeting right now, but wants you to meet with him in his office when it’s over, said it should be about an hour, give or take. He wanted me to let you know.”

She swallowed, wishing she was able to tell Mr. Collins no, that she didn’t wish to be in his presence. In reality, if she were to do so, her punishment would likely be brutal. At least a slap across the face. Or worse. Either way, she wasn’t keen on finding out.

“Thank you for notifying me,” she told him, earning a nod and a gruff, “It’s my job,” in response. Fully expecting him to leave right after, she was puzzled when he didn’t move from the spot he had been standing in.

“Is there something else you need?”

“What- Oh. No, nothing else,” but he still made no move to leave. She tried her hardest not to smile at his being flustered, heart beating a rapid tattoo against her ribcage, hard enough to feel throughout her body, all the way to her limbs.

Suddenly feeling brave, though she knew she shouldn’t, “Would you care to tell me why this strange man hasn’t left my room yet? Does he need escorted out?”

The sound of his laugh, even if short, made her stomach turn, but not in the same way being around Mr. Collins did. Bellamy made her stomach flutter with the feeling of butterflies, of curiosity, not nausea or dread, both which she had become so accustomed to.

“No, no. He’s fine. Just… you haven’t eaten it yet?” He sounded confused. She didn’t need him to clarify in order to know what, exactly, it was that he was referring to.

“Uhm, no, not yet. I was… it’s stupid, actually. I will, though. I promise I won’t waste it.”

“Hey,” he stepped closed to her, still not close enough to touch. “It’s okay, I’m not mad. Even if you _don’t_ eat it, it’s fine. You’re not in trouble,” he reassured her, voice gentle, as if trying not to frighten her.

A thought dawned upon her then. Knowing she shouldn’t, but unable to stop herself, she walked over to the windowsill where she had set the apple, its dark red a contrast to the light brown of the wood.

She held it out to him. He raised an eyebrow, shaking his head in response.

“I gave it to you.”

“I know, I just… I was wondering if you, if you might want-” She was unsure of how to ask the question in a way which seemed appropriate, not as if she had some ulterior motive.

“Are you asking if I’d want to share it with you?” She didn’t say anything in response, focusing instead on the freckles adorning his skin. He reached out to take it from her, hand enveloping it tightly before holding it up close to her mouth. At her questioning look, he smiled. The tips of their toes touched. “Owner gets first bite. Go ahead.”

She leaned forward to bite into it as he watched her, the sweetness almost enough to make her sigh with content. Juice began to trail down her chin, but before she could do anything about it, he reached up, thumb delicately wiping it away. She couldn’t bring herself to do anything other than watch him do it, despite knowing all of the wrongs about the situation, how much trouble they could get in. But the possibilities didn’t come anywhere close enough to outweighing what she was feeling right then. It was intimate in a way she’d never known.

As if shocked by his own action, he shook his head. Then, eyes never leaving hers, he lifted it to his own mouth, taking a bite out of the other side which had been previously left untouched. She resisted the urge to wipe away the juice trailing down his chin in return.

They traded bites in this same manner until it was eaten down to the core, and Clarke ached to go back, to be able to do so for longer, even if only a moment. With his hesitancy to step away from her, she thought maybe he was thinking about that, wanting it, too.

He coughed awkwardly, and she wrung her hands together.

_What if she couldn’t trust him? What if she’d made a mistake?_

“I guess I’ll… get going.” She missed the heat of his body in close proximity to hers as soon as he stepped away. “Thanks, by the way. I’ll throw this away so you don’t have to worry about it.”

When he was almost out of earshot, she whispered, “Thank you,” though she wasn’t entirely sure what, exactly, it was for.

It was strange, and likely too soon to say, but around him, she felt… human, the way that she should. It was almost as though the burden bearing weight on her chest was lifted, allowing her to breathe easier. She allowed herself to wonder if, maybe, what she really needed wasn’t necessarily to be physically free (although she’d like that, too), but to feel connected to another person.

The thought of not being able to interact with him when others were around made her heart begin to ache within the confines of her chest, filled with longing. She wanted to be able to know him, wanted him to know her, but knew that the situation could never have a happy ending, that something would inevitably go wrong, ending in one or both of them being punished. She’d never be able to forgive herself then.

Steps creaking quietly beneath her feet, she began to head to Mr. Collins’ office, knowing she couldn’t be late regardless of what it was he wanted her for. Light peeked in through a small window over the staircase, basking her in a soft glow, and she closed her eyes against it.  

“I see Bellamy delivered the invite,” he said upon opening the door, motioning for her to come in. He didn’t often allow people in the office, a rarity even for his wife, which made her both curious and slightly afraid to find out why he had summoned her. “Take a seat, please.”

Slowly, still unsure whether she really should, she walked over to a seat across from the desk in the center of the room, running her fingers over the wood paneling at the top of the chair, taking in the pattern of the material. It almost appeared too beautiful for her to feel comfortable sitting in.

He sat on the corner of the desk near her, too close, enough so that she could feel body heat, smell the harsh cologne it seemed he had taken a bath in. She stiffened in response.

“Actually, on second thought, would you like to go for a walk around the garden?” He asked, lips twisting in a smile of sorts. Never before had he been what she would consider nice, and she suspected it wasn’t as simple as it appeared.

Unsure of what his response would be if she turned down the offer, she took a breath. “Sure. Won’t it be quite cold, though?”  

“We won’t be out for long, anyway, Raven should be getting back soon.”

She nodded in response, not liking the feeling of dread which began to creep up her spine.

The air outside was crisp, trees almost completely void of leaves by that point in the year. Mr. Collins stood close to her as they walked, still apparently either unsure or simply ignoring the concept of personal space. She hoped she didn’t appear quite as uncomfortable as she felt, goosebumps arising along her arms with each centimeter more he moved towards her.

“--don’t you think?”

“Pardon?” He huffed a laugh in response to her cluelessness. She didn’t like the way it made her feel, almost as if he was poking fun at her. She pulled her bonnet tighter around her head.

“I said , ‘Summer would be a wonderful time for the baby to be born, don’t you think?’”

_Baby. Right._

“Uh huh. Yes, it would probably be the best time, really,” she agreed, although no baby would be preferable, in her opinion, dread dwelling within her.

“I hope this month’s test results are positive, we’ve wanted this for so long.” _We,_ as in he and Mrs. Reyes. Clarke was invisible, merely a place for their child to take residence and grow for the months prior to its birth. After that, she would matter even less. “There hasn’t been much luck for us yet, but hopefully that changes, right?” Their walking ceased at his insistence, and the smile he gave her was soft, one she’d never seen on him.

“Of course.” She didn’t like it, but returned the sentiment nonetheless, albeit weakly.

“It means a lot, that you’re doing this,” he started. She furrowed a brow in response, wondering what exactly it was which made him seem to think she was doing so willingly.

An attempt to be polite in her next words, voice breaking, “Well, I don’t have much of a choice in that, now do I, sir?” He froze slightly.

“Excuse me?” The dread she had felt earlier returned, this time enough to completely envelop her at the look in his eyes.

“My apologies, sir. I didn’t sleep well last night, of course I’m glad to be here, doing this for the two of you,” she covered herself in what she hoped was a convincing manner, trying her best to appear nonchalant, like she hadn’t just disrespected the man in charge of her, a punishable offense. “Your child will be beautiful, I’m sure.”

A beat of silence, of blood pounding within her ears, blocking out the other sounds around them aside from her own breathing.

Eyes scrutinizing enough she didn’t allow herself to do anything other than blink, he replied, “Yeah. I think so, too.” She knew by now that this was his way of telling her to be careful, to not overstep or disrespect him again or else she’d face the consequences. Last time had been a multitude of shock-lashes to her side, scars still there as proof, burning at the thought. Finding out what her next punishment would be wasn’t something she was very keen on. Or, perhaps, she had perceived his actions entirely wrong.

He glanced around as if make sure no one was watching the two of them, obscured by the bushes around them which hadn’t yet succumbed to the weather. “You know,” he whispered, stepping closer to her. “You’re so pretty. I’d call you beautiful, even.” A lump formed in her throat and she tried swallowing past it, unsure of what he was trying to do, scared to find out. Her eyes didn’t begin to burn until he placed a hand on her upper arm, running his thumb in circles.

The touch burned, even through her multiple layers of clothing.

“I-” She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Sir,” Bellamy’s voice sounded from across the yard, and she nearly cried in relief as it caused the hand on her arm to drop. “Your dinner’s almost ready, Harper wanted me to let you know. Also, the phone in your office rang a few minutes ago, but I wasn’t sure it would be appropriate for me to answer.” He came close enough for her to be able to see the worry in his eyes as he looked over at her, likely gone unnoticed by the other man. Then, directed at Mr. Collins, “Some lines shouldn’t be crossed. I figured that was one of them.”

“Of course, I’ll go check on that now. In the meantime, would you mind escorting her back to her room?”

“No, sir, I can handle that.”

He watched Mr. Collins walk away with obvious disdain, jaw ticking, but didn’t speak to her until they reached her room, far enough away from the others that any conversation they had wouldn’t be heard.

“Are you okay?” She heard from behind her, turning to see he hadn’t yet stepped away from the doorframe.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m fine,” she assured him, which likely would have been convincing if not for the fact that her voice cracked or a tear had broken free despite her best efforts, trailing down the skin of her cheek. She sniffed, wiping it away, then closed her eyes entirely. With more conviction this time, ignoring how her voice was a higher pitch than usual,  “I’m fine." 

“No,” he shook his head, but stayed where he was. “You aren’t.”

“Who are you to tell me what I am or am not?” She paused. Then, despite knowing she shouldn’t, but unable to stop herself, “You aren’t even _paired_ with anyone yet, you’re just as lowly as I am.”

It took him a moment longer to reply this time, but he didn’t take the bait. Regret filled her.

“Sometimes I’m not okay either, and that’s okay,” he started. “We both will be someday. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but… we will be one day.” Before he stepped into the hallway entirely to go back to what he had likely been doing earlier, she heard him utter an, “I hope you feel better.”

“Bellamy, wait--” He turned to look at her, uncrossing his arms. “I’m sorry.”

Nonchalantly, “About what?”

“About lashing out at you, saying something I shouldn’t have? I… I didn’t mean it.” She looked down, unable to meet his eyes until he uttered a soft, “Hey.”

“We’re good, don’t worry about it.”

He turned to offer what appeared to be a comforting smile over his shoulder, and then she was left alone, something she was used to by now. She just wished she didn’t have to be.

In the days following, no longer quite the stranger he once was, he began smiling at her each time she passed him in the hallway when no one else was nearby, or outside if she passed him on her way out. She found some kind of addition to her breakfast each morning which she wouldn’t have previously had, a banana one morning, a peach the next, an orange the morning after that. She knew they could only be attributed to Bellamy, and the thought brought a smile to her face, a lightness to her heart.

It happened so often it had become a common occurrence, a familiar one. Above all, a welcome one. Even that didn’t diminish the fact that, each time, she felt a fluttering within her in response. She wondered if that feeling would ever stop, if her body would ever catch up to her mind with the realization that this was all they could ever be-- acquaintances.

They weren’t destined to be anything more, they couldn’t be; not even friends, not really.

He was still a mystery, one she hadn’t come any closer to figuring out and likely never would, but she was grateful that, at the least, she could remove the title of stranger from his name.

* * *

Her blood ran cold at the sound of the church bell tolling three times, signaling the occurrence of a particicution. The bell was to alert the handmaids, who were the ones forced to execute the chosen criminal usually by way of stoning, although what they did wasn’t exactly limited.

It was a regular occurrence, yet one she couldn’t force herself to become used to.

The bell tolled twice more before she headed downstairs only to find Bellamy by the door, as if waiting for her. His lips quirked up in a smile as he opened it, stepping aside.

"After you,” he gestured.

“Thanks,” she watched him momentarily before forcing herself to look away, barely able to muster the strength to do so. “Have a good day, Bellamy,” she told him, voice quiet, before beginning towards the front gate.

And, well, if she chanced a glance over her shoulder to get one last glance of him before he was completely out of sight, no one had to know.

Her attention moved to the street, covered in the color she so despised.

Red was everywhere she looked.

The red of the pillows they knelt on as they gathered in an empty field to first say a prayer before one of the women from the training centers, who first welcomed them from a stage elevated a hundred feet ahead.

The red of the vision she had as a woman she’d never met turned to face her when the chaos erupted, uttering three words that threatened to turn her world upside down, filling her with both sorrow and rage, causing her heartbeat to pound within her eyes.

“Wells is dead.”

The crimson color of the criminal’s blood as they stoned him, kicked him without abandon until he was lying in a puddle of it. It stained her hands, matching her dress and cloak as if it were meant to be an accessory. She wished she could wash it off immediately.

Red tainted her thoughts no matter how hard she tried to push it away, paralyzing her as she hunched over the kitchen sink that night despite the rules being that she wasn’t allowed to leave her room past eleven o’clock.

Until suddenly, brown began to creep in, allowing her to breathe easier.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Bellamy turned her to face him, hands gently cupping her face, thumbs soothing circles against her cheeks. Finally, her eyes locked on his. “What happened, did they do something to you?””

Brown.

All she could see was the deep brown of his eyes as she tried to breathe, shaking her head as her hands gripped onto his shirt. Without hesitation, he pulled her into him, arms wrapping tightly around her as she tried her best to anchor herself to him. Perhaps he was what she had needed all along.

“It’s okay, I’m here. Whatever it is, you’ll get through it. _We_ will,” he murmured with what felt like a kiss against the top of her head. She found herself melting further into him, trying to calm the still racing beat of heart. Rather than simply lingering around the edges, brown, a deep, warm variation of the color, now began to weave its way into her soul.

Her world was still red, and yet, with him as her anchor, she no longer found herself drowning in it.


	2. Russet

 

Bellamy crept into her life steadily, a constantly flowing stream of comfort.

It wasn’t easy, what they had. It forced them to constantly be aware of their surroundings, to be careful of what they said or how they watched each other whenever they weren’t alone. The slipping of one word which didn’t appear completely professional could mean the difference between life and death, in their eyes.

But regardless of the way it could potentially turn out, of the pain it could bring them both, she felt… _drawn_ to him. No matter how hard she tried to fight it, how hard she tried to ignore the gentle way he looked at her, eyes ablaze with what she deemed affection, it was impossible.

She didn’t know much about the world, or how to survive it, but she knew above all, she needed him, and that was dangerous. But feeling the softness of his fingers against her skin, even if only a friendly touch, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Like everything else with them, and her life in general, it became a routine of sorts. Sundays were the busiest days in the house, and with that, came Mr. Collins and Mrs. Reyes going to bed earlier than usual, which Clarke had quickly become thankful for. Somewhere around midnight, once sure everyone else was asleep, she tiptoed down the old wooden steps - mindful of the ones which creaked - and through the hallway to find Bellamy already stood at the kitchen sink, glass of water usually already in hand.

“You’re late,” he admonished, trying to appear stern, and yet she could see the hints of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Maybe you shouldn’t show up so early, then,” she reasoned, leaning back against the island of counters opposite him, their legs meeting in the middle.

He shrugged. Murmuring against the rim of the glass, still in good humor, “Sorry for being eager to see you, I guess.”

She could feel her cheeks heat in response, and if she hadn’t known better, she probably would have wondered if her heart could break through her chest with how hard it was beating.

“No,” she started before she could stop herself, sounding desperate. “Be eager to see me.”

He was silent for a moment, studying her, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it until he moved away from the cabinet, slightly closer to her.

“Okay,” he promised, fingers brushing hers. “But only if you’re eager to see me, too.”

Shakily, but earnest nonetheless, “Always.” He smiled in response, gently interlacing his fingers with hers, held against the side of his hip.

“Fine by me.” She smiled, wondering when, exactly, he had become someone so important to her. Maybe it had been from the moment he’d gifted her that apple without having reason to, a time in which she needed him unknowingly. Or maybe it was right then, standing with their fingers interlaced in the dimly lit kitchen.

Times like this, where she could consider herself happy, were undeniably the ones in which she felt the worst, and she hated it, forced to think about those she had lost. Her father, Lexa, Wells… the nagging in her mind was unrelentless.

_Selfish girl, what are you thinking? They’re dead, and yet here you are. Do you even care about their deaths? Were they in vain?_

“How,” she cleared her throat before starting again, suddenly finding it hard to speak. “How was your day?” She’d only passed him in the hallway once, and with Mr. Collins trailing ahead in front of him, they hadn’t been able to speak.

“No worse than usual.” He held the glass out to her in a silent offering. Her free hand wrapped around it carefully, taking it from his as they met eyes. “How was yours?”

She took a sip before answering, trying to hand the glass back to him before he shook his head, signaling for her to keep it.

“It was okay, I guess.”

She watched as he glanced over at the clock on the wall - something she’d noticed him doing multiple times each night - before inquiring, “How so?”

“Nothing around here’s ever really ‘good,’ is it? It’s just like… living life as it passes you by, or something. Some days it can be terrible, and others it’s fine, but it’s never what I would consider good.”

It was quiet, and she briefly wondered if he had even been paying attention, his eyes focused on the tiled floor beneath their feet. Her heart lurched, a feeling she had become all too familiar with, when he returned his attention back to her.

“You’re good,” he confessed, barely audible.

“What?”

“Most things around here aren’t, but seeing you, being able to talk to you… What we’re doing right now? It’s good.” His jaw ticked, hand gripping hers tighter.

Her own breathing quickened, perhaps in awe, or maybe she was simply nervous. She had a habit of being nervous around him, not because he intimidated her, but because she liked being around him _so_ much, and only had the chance to under certain circumstances. She didn’t want to do anything to mess it up.

“You’re good, too, Bellamy.” He softened, body visibly relaxing. She felt his thumb rub circles gently against the back of her hand and as she revelled in the feeling, something she was no longer familiar with, a startling realization hit her. Mouth ahead of her brain, she told him, “Clarke.”

“What-”

“That’s my name… Clarke.”

“Clarke.” From his mouth, it sounded like the most beautiful name in the world, soft yet somehow maintaining strength, and she tried her best to ignore the tears she felt building in response.  It was impossible not to yearn to hear him say it over and over again, a euphonious litany of words. “It’s nice to meet you, Clarke,” he smiled. It had been so long since she’d heard someone else address her by her name that she could no longer ignore the tears, one clinging to her lashes as it attempted to fall down her face. She quickly reached up to wipe it away.

“You already know me, Bellamy.” She laughed quietly, squeezing his hand.

“I don’t know _Clarke,_ though. Not yet.” He squeezed hers in response.

“No,” she reasoned. “Not yet.”

She felt a small piece of herself, who she really was, return after that. Though she might have been a handmaid, Offinn, to everyone else, to one person, to _him_ she was simply Clarke _._ Even with everything else falling apart around her, when he was near, she felt like herself.

Silence settled between them, neither seeming to know what to say, not wanting to break the fragility of the moment, until he spoke up with the words she dreaded hearing each night.

“We should probably go to bed.”

 _No, let’s stay,_ her heart screamed for more time with him, and yet, “Probably.”

He took the glass from her hand, placing it in the sink while she began to walk towards the doorway, wishing she could further delay her steps to avoid going back to her room, to stay just a little bit longer in his presence. She stopped, turning to look at him over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Bellamy.”

It was quiet, for a moment, before she heard his gentle, “Goodnight, Clarke.”

The next morning, she woke feeling better than she had in a long time, even despite the harsh emptiness, almost jail cell-like, surrounding her. Of course, that only lasted for a short time before all of her usual emotions set in.

 _Despair took over her heart, pain evident in her head, loneliness an ache within her soul -_ Bellamy, somehow, was able to soothe them all whenever he was around, even if only momentarily, even if not all the way.

He made her feel seen.

Then being around everyone else reminded her that, no, it was all some misperception of hers, a vision left untouchable. She wasn’t worthy of being seen, after all.

“It’s negative.” _Test day._ Mrs. Reyes held the offending object in her hand, facing Clarke so she could see, disdain written across her face. “You know,” she started, malice evident in her voice. “Finn and I have wanted a baby for a long time… and you’re not seeming to be of much help. Maybe we should just consider letting you go, look into getting another one of your kind to help us.”

Her blood ran cold.

She wasn’t happy here, far from it, but knew that if they let her go, if they sent her away… her fate would be undeniably worse. No one really knew what happened to her kind if their owners forfeit them, if they were taken away, and if it were up to her, she’d never find out. Certainly not firsthand, anyway.

“N-no, Mrs. Reyes,” she stuttered, shaking her head, attempting to appear as put together as possible. “I’ll… I’ll pray harder, I’ll stay in position longer once the ceremony finishes-”

The woman put the test down, taking a seat in one of the chairs nearby, rubbing gently at her thigh while trying not to be so apparent. From what Clarke understood, she had a bad leg, and it bothered her more on some days than others. She wasn’t entirely sure what had caused it, but at one point heard hushed conversation claiming that it had been an accident during her teenage years.

It wasn’t something she liked people to know, as anything which made you less than perfect was frowned upon, whether a man or woman, elder or newborn baby. Babies with deformities or health problems of any kind, for that matter, were especially frowned upon - unbabies, they were called.

 _“Don’t,”_ she snapped. “Don’t bother begging, it won’t get you anywhere. It’s up to the two of us - my _husband_ and me. You don’t have a say in anything, I think you’re forgetting that.” Taking a breath, she stood, putting the test aside. “Doing those things… it may make you look more favorable, more willing, but nothing’s guaranteed. Now, go help Harper with lunch, and don’t forget about your appointment tomorrow morning. Finn and I will be out, but Bellamy will still be here to take you.”

Despite the shaking in her hands, the lump in her throat, she managed a steady, “Yes ma’am.” Then, “My apologies, for the negative result.”

Mrs. Reyes studied her momentarily before sneering, “Your _apologies_?”

“Yes, I-” She quickly found her personal space being invaded by the other woman, close enough they were nearly touching. Her lungs suddenly found it difficult to bring in air, and afraid to move for fear of what may happen, she stood stock-still.

Menacingly, “There’s no use in apologizing when this is your fault in the first place, Offinn. For such a smart girl, you act so stupid sometimes. I don’t want to hear it again. Now you can go.” She waved a hand in the air, dismissing her prior to adding, “and keep in mind, blessed are the meek.” But Clarke didn’t move. “I said, ‘go.’”

She shouldn’t, and knew that she shouldn’t, that she should follow orders and walk away. Yet she found herself unable to put a stop to her next words.

Void of emotion, said almost as if she were reading lines from a script, “And blessed are those who suffer for the cause of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.”

It was silent, a moment wherein Clarke could hear only the pounding in her ears as Mrs. Reyes watched her, expression unreadable.

Then, loud, like the crash of thunder during a storm, the other woman’s hand collided with her face, causing her to lose her balance before she was able to do anything else. On the floor, merely a disheveled heap looking up to meet eyes set afire with anger, disgust, Clarke had never felt so small.

Subconsciously, her hand came up to graze the place she’d been hit, and she tried not to cringe at the sting as Mrs. Reyes leaned down, taunting her with the test held close to her face.

“Do you see this?” She nearly hissed. Clarke nodded in response, finding it hard to swallow. Fear, churning in her stomach, was enough to make her feel frozen. “There better be a positive next time, or else I _promise_ you, you’re done here.” The object clicked across the floor as it was thrown, Mrs. Reyes beginning to walk away until she paused near the door. Quiet, yet equally as threatening as her previous words, “Now, go to your room and don’t leave it until I tell you to.”

The sound of her footsteps growing quiet as she walked further and further away were enough to comfort Clarke, even if only slightly, as her eyes began to fill with tears.

She’d tried to be strong, tried her hardest to not let them be what broke her since she’d arrived at their front doorstep with fear, dread, nervousness all threatening to eat her alive. She’d promised herself that, of all which they were allowed to do to her, breaking her wasn’t an option.

It should have been common knowledge that she wouldn’t be able keep that promise. Perhaps, unbeknownst to her, she’d been broken since that very moment, already beyond the point of repair. Or, just maybe, she hadn’t broken until the moment she hit the ground only moments ago, already so fragile she felt as though a brief gust of wind would have been enough to do so.

She could feel the tears trailing slowly down her face, but could no longer bring herself to care. Her nose burned, the side of her head throbbed in response to the strike it had endured, and it was difficult trying not to question why she couldn’t force herself to feel numb on the outside, why she couldn’t ignore the pain no matter how hard she tried to. It had worked perfectly for what she felt on the inside.

Bellamy stood near the staircase, and she froze in her tracks, but only for an instant, as the concern which took over his features quickly became too much for her to handle, only working to increase the ache within her. If she let herself think about it too much, she might begin to believe he cared for her, and that wasn’t something she would allow herself to do, especially when it would only be setting her up for another disappointment.

_He needed to stop looking at her like that._

Suddenly, rather than tears following each other one by one in a steady trail, she began to cry with enough force that she had to blindly grip at the wall beside her in order to stay upright. It was impossible to breathe as the hand not grasping at the wall slowly rose to cover her mouth, whether in shock or to keep quiet, she wasn’t sure. Her shoulders shook, and she briefly wondered if her knees were about to give out, too.

She didn’t know what to do.

It wasn’t crying, no, it was more than that, the desolate sobbing of someone who had finally lost all hope. Thoughts of death, of hanging along the wall by the river overcame her, and she realized then, _that_ was her fate. She would never escape, would never be happy again. It was inevitable, this realization, and yet that didn’t make it hurt any less.

She could feel Bellamy move closer to her, and was torn between wanting him to leave her alone and wishing he would hold her the way he did that night in the kitchen after she’d been told Wells was dead.

But it was broad daylight, and he couldn’t, she knew that. It was idiotic of her to hope otherwise.

Merely a whisper, a hand outstretched in her direction. A gentle, “Hey-” was enough for her to pull herself together, even if only for the time being.

The next breath she took was unsteady, barely enough to be of any help.

_“No. Please, just- no.”_

The look on his face in response was that of pain, akin to betrayal, almost. It stayed engrained in her mind as she turned away from him no matter how much it hurt to, making her way up the steps, and even later as she lay in bed, void of any emotion. She didn’t know what to feel, wasn’t sure she was allowed to feel anything.

Had they stolen that from her, too?

It wasn’t long before a light knock sounded on the door, echoing throughout the sparse room, enough to make her startle. They knocked again when she didn’t answer, seemingly waiting for permission, and she wasn’t sure what to make of that - it had never happened before, knocks usually resulting in whoever was on the other side pushing the door open right after, not bothering to wait for a response.

“Come in,” she uttered just loud enough to be heard in spite of the pain in her throat heavily protesting. When they still didn’t enter, she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the narrow bed to touch the floor. “I said-”

“Sorry.” Bellamy entered the room, looking down the hallway before closing the door behind him, leaving it open enough for light to peak in through a sliver of space. “I didn’t-”

“What are you doing in here?” She whispered, voice holding an edge she hadn’t quite meant it to. Her chest ached at the sight of him freezing in response. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it before doing so again.

“I- I made sure everyone was busy before I came, no one’s coming up here any time soon.” Then, as he shifted on his feet, hesitant, as though he was unsure she’d want to hear it, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She smiled, beginning to soften as his words.

 _He had been worried about about her,_ she realized, and it was impossible to ignore the way that made her feel. Standing slowly, feet hitting the cold floor, she took a step towards where he stood, still fidgeting. He watched the ground intensely.

“Hey,” she breathed, urging him to look up at her. “I am. I’m okay.”

“You are?”

“As okay as I can be.” Shrugging, she offered him a wry smile.

He shook his head in response, not finding any humor in her words as he uttered a broken, “Clarke…”  It was enough to make her close her eyes momentarily, tears resurfacing despite her hardest efforts. She could feel his eyes on her, the heat of his hand hovering near hers. “Can I?”

It was strange, the way he had so quickly went from a stranger to the only person who seemed to care about her. To… her friend. And yet, she wouldn’t have wanted it to happen any other way. If it weren’t for him, she wasn’t sure where she’d be, what she’d be like. She likely would have been left to continue withering away until she was nothing but dust, inevitably blown away in the wind.

She opened her eyes to see him holding a bag of ice, napkin wrapped around it, as he motioned to the side of her face. Though not entirely sure it was necessary, she still found herself nodding slowly in response.

He tentatively stepped closer, moving his hand forward without hurry as the other came to cradle the opposite side of her face, touch nearly soft enough to make her wonder if it was a figment of her imagination; if he was. She flinched slightly at the sting the cold of the ice gave against her skin, but the ministrations of his thumb, which had begun to move in gentle circles on the skin of her cheek, were enough to soothe her.

Without meaning to, she sighed, slouching forward slightly which prompted a soft laugh on his part.

“Feel nice?” He muttered, eyes locked on her with an intensity that nearly took her breath away.

“Yes,” and if she meant his company, _him_ as a whole, rather than the feeling of his hands on her skin, he’d never have to know.

“Good.” His lips quirked up in a half-smile and she found it hard to breathe as he looked at her so closely, almost as though nothing else mattered; at least, not to him. “Clarke, you know I’m… I’m here for you, right? No matter what.” His words were quiet over the sounds of the house’s heating, the rain lashing against the window outside. She swallowed.

“I know you are, Bellamy.” Her breath ceased as he resituated the ice against her face, and she wasn’t sure if it was simply her perception, or if he had somehow found it within himself to move closer to her again, this time almost enough that their chests were touching. Feeling a moment of bravery, she slowly confessed, “I don’t know what I would do without you.” Her hand gripped his upper arm through the material of his shirt, and she held on as if he were an anchor keeping her upright. Maybe he was.

“You’d be okay.” He seemingly shrugged off her words, causing a feeling of discomfort within her. _Had he not liked that she said that?_ “You’re so strong,” he went on to assure her, making her feel infinitely better, although she wasn’t sure his words were true. For some reason, though, the knowledge that he believed she was strong - that he had some kind of faith in her - brought her a comfort she hadn’t known it could.

She sighed at the feeling of his thumb tracing across the side of her face, ice having made the other side numb in comparison.

“But you make things better,” she whispered, watching as his eyes fluttered slightly in response. Her hand came up, as if of its own volition, to lay gently on the side of his face despite her wondering if she even should.

“Clarke…”

Hesitant, she breathed, “Don’t stop. _Please…_ I- I know it’s dangerous, but it’s-”

“I won’t.” His tone, though soft, left no room for argument, and her heart lurched in response. If he had said anything otherwise, she wasn’t sure what she would have done.

“Okay.”

If at all possible, they had migrated closer together as they spoke, ice still placed against her cheek though mostly forgotten. She could feel each breath of his against her skin, and longed to be closer to him - as close as she could physically be. She knew knew she shouldn’t, though, that she should be content with what she already had.

Putting him in more danger than he was already in by simply socializing with her wasn’t an option.

And yet, the way she felt looking at him - the way _he_ made _her_ feel - almost made her think it would be worth it, made her yearn for it with a want more than she thought was humanly possible.

Almost.

It was as if he had been thinking the same, yet was inevitably snapped out of it the moment he allowed the ice to gently fall away from her skin, leaving behind only a numbness frigid to the touch.

“I should probably…” His voice was hesitant, almost as if he didn’t mean the words he had begun to say, and without meaning to, she leaned into him despite how he had started to step back.

She spoke, a pleading, “Don’t go. Not yet, you don’t-” She swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. “You don’t have to go yet,” she finished lamely, her voice low enough she wondered if it could be heard over the sounds of the house around them. His eyes widened slightly in response, and she watched as he toyed with the bag of now mostly melted ice in his hand.

Wondering if he thought of her as selfish, if her perception of his own wants had been wrong, she began to backtrack. Slowly, feeling her cheeks begin to tint in embarrassment, she told him, “Or, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. Just do whatever you-”

“Hey.” His voice was hardly above a whisper as he moved to trace a hand across her face, thumb working gently in an effort to remove the frown from her forehead. “I’d stay if I could, but... I don’t think we should chance it, okay? We don’t want anyone to get suspicious, or risk getting caught any more than we already have.”

Despite what she wanted, how much she wanted him to stay even if only for a short time longer, she knew he was right. Looking down, she nodded.

“I know. I’m sorry, I don’t know what-”

“You only said what I was thinking too, Clarke. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

His hand dropped from her face with one last caress before he turned to go, but her words stopped him before he could reach the door, her voice only loud enough for him to hear. “See you tonight?”

“Same time, same place,” he assured her, looking down as a smile worked its way onto his face before he turned to go only a moment later.  

Mrs. Reyes didn’t call her out of her room the rest of the night. She had either decided her actions warranted a punishment that severe, or had simply forgotten about her - it was hard to tell, really.

Harper did, however, bring her a tray of food, suspecting she wouldn’t be coming downstairs for dinner, though Clarke only picked at the slightly stale bread placed next to the bowl of soup in the center of the tray. She didn’t want anything else. Not enough to actually eat it, at least.

The silence of the room was almost deafening after so long without any noise aside from the ticking of the clock on the wall, and she yearned for Bellamy to return, if only for a short time, watching the gap beneath the door for any sign of movement on the other side. Steps would sound throughout the hallway now and again, excitement beginning to fill her before they flitted away briefly after.

She should have known they weren’t coming for _her,_ anyway.

Hours ticked by before her door finally opened, and she sat up straighter at the creak of it, the anticipation of who was on the other side.

“I heard about your… dispute with Raven this morning,” Mr. Collins spoke, stepping inside before shutting the door slightly, still leaving it ajar. “She hasn’t been in the best mood lately, just - frustrated with everything, I guess.”

“I understand.” Her tone was short as she stood, hoping it would be enough for him to leave her be. “It’s okay, truly. I should have known to not disrespect her the way I did.”

“Yes,” he agreed, walking closer to her. “It’s all okay, though. The next ceremony’s soon, and next month, with His grace, the test will be positive.”

She couldn’t find it within her to respond to his words with words of her own, opting for an affirmative, “Mhm.” Chills ran through her at how casually he spoke of it all, as if he weren’t violating her simply by being in the same room as her at this moment. Her stomach churned at the sight of him - his hair, too long for it to be anywhere near attractive, his suit, the way he carried himself so highly above her.

She supposed, of course, he _was_ above her. At least in privilege, in freedom… in power.

Most of all, the way he watched her was disconcerting, as if he were sizing her up, a spark burning within his gaze enough to make her shy away. It was nothing like the way Bellamy looked at her, nothing similar to the adoration within his gaze present here in Mr. Collins’.

It made her feel like running away, like screaming for help, as it had since the very first day she arrived at their home. Except, it seemed as though it had only grown more intense over time, and she knew that neither of those actions would do her any good.

When it didn’t appear as though she was eager to participate in conversation with him, Mr. Collins glanced down at the watch on his wrist, eerily similar to the one her father had worn prior to his death, and tapped his foot once, twice. “Right. Well, I have work to do, so I suppose I’ll leave you be.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She cleared her throat. “Good luck with whatever it is that you’re working on.”

He nodded in response, turning on his heel to leave.

She breathed a sigh of relief upon the sound of the door clicking shut.

* * *

She’d noticed it before, the way Bellamy continuously glanced at the clock during their nightly meetings - had paid more attention to it than she’d like to admit. Yet, she hadn’t previously been able to find the courage to ask him why his attention was constantly drawn to it, as if he had somewhere else to be.

 _Did_ he have somewhere else to be?

He pulled at a loose string on his pants, looking down as he talked, then back up to the clock, and suddenly she couldn’t stop herself from wondering aloud what she’d been inwardly asking herself all along.

“Why do you always do that?” The movement of his fingers along the string ceased, and he smiled, just a barely there tilt of his mouth, as he looked up.

“Do what?”

“Look at the clock,” she clarified, his hand tightening slightly around hers. “I always see you looking over at it. Do you… do you have somewhere else to be?”

Despite the selfishness of it, she hoped he didn’t.

He was quiet before shaking his head, a panicked look overcoming him.

“No, I just- we don’t usually have a lot of time together,” he reasoned, and she couldn’t help the way her stomach fluttered, the way her brow furrowed in confusion at the same time.

“What exactly does a clock have to do with that?”

“I guess I like to know how much time I have left with you.” He glanced down at their hands, then back up at her. She couldn’t tell for sure under the dim lighting of the kitchen, but she thought that maybe his cheeks were tinted pink, if only somewhat.

“Let’s just… not worry about the time, or how much of it we have left, okay?” Her thumb rubbed gently along the top of his hand as she spoke, something he was usually the one to do. He merely squeezed hers in response, a reassurance.

“I’ll try not to.”

“Good.” She smiled, feeling light in a way only he could make her feel.

They didn’t have much to say then, opting to stand in silence for the remainder of their time. She didn’t mind, though. Unlike the way it was with most others, this silence wasn’t suffocating, it wasn’t stiff in any way. It was… comfortable, so much that she dreaded disrupting it, the moment she’d have to leave it.

Which, of course, came sooner than later, her deciding to bid her goodbyes with a final smile in his direction, accompanied by a soft, “Goodnight, Bellamy.”

* * *

Her first clue should have been when she heard the women gossiping in the waiting room of the clinic. Though passed around in hushed whispers and code words rather than actual names, it wasn’t unusual to hear gossip about the men in charge, and paired with a number of other factors, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, not really.

“I hear quite a few handmaids are having trouble.” The whisper between two wives carried across the room, and she tensed in response, hoping it was unnoticeable. Her hand gripped tighter to the side of her chair, eyes drifting to the empty one beside her, almost hating the fact that she immediately imagined one person in particular occupying it as a means of comfort.

_He would hold her hand, tell her that she was fine - not to pay attention to their words._

“I don’t think it’s because of the handmaids,” the other woman replied, sparing a quick glance in Clarke’s direction. “It’s likely that some of the men are sterile.”

Her blood ran cold at the words, though she couldn’t find it within herself to dispute them. It had been months since she'd first arrived at the Collinses’, yet not a single positive test. Perhaps she wasn’t the problem after all. Strangely enough, she was able to breathe easier at the revelation, only for dread to fill her yet again - if Mr. Collins was the problem, they’d never have a positive test.

Which left her mind to wander through thoughts of her being sent to The Colonies, forced to dig through toxic waste until she succumbed either to the weather, the lack of proper treatment, or to the poison itself. She couldn’t help but imagine another end, that of her hanging along the wall down by the river, bright red dress flowing as if it were a flag in the wind, people viewing her as they walked by just as she had the other traitors.

_Look who’s a traitor now._

_If only she had prayed more, if only she had tried harder - it’s her own fault._

It was likely, though, that her end would be neither of those, but something much worse.

She shuddered, eyes falling to her feet, boots tapping a steady rhythm against the tiled floor as she tried to think of anything else, pushing the wives’ gossip to the back of her mind.

Mrs. Reyes asking her to help in the garden a week later should have been her second clue.

It was rare for her to try and involve Clarke in anything she didn’t feel was necessary, often approaching her with a hard glare when asking, even then.

“The weather’s not exactly the best, but it’s better than what it’s been lately. I figured you might like some time outside.” She smiled as she spoke, gesturing for Clarke to follow her. It was a barely there tilt of the lips, but a smile nonetheless.

“Of course. Thank you,” Clarke replied, her voice polite, words short in the way they usually were around Mrs. Reyes and her husband. She had made a rule with herself, based on the words from the women at the training centers, to only ever speak when spoken to, and never to speak more than needed.

As they tended to the flowers, already wilting from the cold weather, Mrs. Reyes continuously tried to speak to her, which should have been another clue all on its own, really.

“The flowers did well this year compared to the last few,” she explained, setting aside the weeds she had pulled. “Hopefully they’ll do even better next season, if we’re lucky.”

Clarke nodded. “Hopefully so.”

“Listen, I… there’s something I need to discuss with you.” Clarke stiffened at her words, the hesitation in her voice evident. “There’s been talk among some of the wives lately.”

It was hard not to make assumptions, not to jump to the worst case scenario regarding what they may be saying, and Clarke tried to still her thoughts. Mrs. Reyes lowered her voice at her next words, making sure no one else would be able to hear. “I’m… sorry, for the way I treated you over the negative test. It may not be your fault, after all.”

Hearing an apology from the woman’s mouth was certainly a first, and a feeling of uncertainty filled Clarke as a result. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think Finn may be sterile.”

Her mind wandered back to the words of the wives she’d overheard, wishing she hadn’t - wishing Mrs. Reyes were wrong.

“What,” she cleared her throat before starting again. “What do we do about it?”

The grin on Mrs. Reyes’ face only seemed to grow at her question, and Clarke couldn’t help but dread her next words. The gleam in her eyes made it obvious she had already thought through a solution, knowing that Clarke would find it hard, if not impossible, to disagree.

“You could perform the ceremony with someone else.”

“No, that’s- we would get caught, there’s no way we-” She stuttered over her words, incapable of piecing together a coherent sentence in response. Her hands shook as they landed on a root, and she suddenly felt cold, as though the temperature around her had dropped a noticeable amount despite the fact that it likely hadn’t changed at all.

It was too much of a risk, one she wished she wouldn’t have to take.

“That’s why it would have to be someone we trust.”

And though she already knew the answer, she couldn’t help but let out a weak, “Who?”

Mrs. Reyes turned to tend to a plant on her other side before facing her again, responding with an aloof, “Bellamy.”

She hurriedly blinked away the tears building behind her eyes, focusing on the ground below her. It was quiet for a moment, and she could feel herself being watched. Trying to make her reaction less apparent was much more difficult than it should have been.

If she said yes, she would only be putting him in more danger than she already had, risking his life yet again, and she couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t worth the risk. If she said no, however, she was practically guaranteeing another negative test, the possibility of her being sent away. She wondered if Mrs. Reyes had already asked him about it.

He surely wouldn’t have said yes, would he have?

Taking a breath, she made a silent agreement with herself, one she wasn’t quite sure was a particularly good one.

If Bellamy had said yes, so would she, but if he had disagreed, she would turn down the offer as well. It would be no less dangerous, of course, but… she trusted him, a warmth running through her at the thought. She knew that he would agree to do what he figured was best.

Feebly, “Have you spoken with him about it?”

“He already agreed.”

She willed her hands to stop shaking, cursing them inwardly, but found that, if anything, they’d only begun to shake harder.

It was quiet for a moment before she assented a hesitant, “Okay.” Picking at the dirt covering her nails in an effort to avoid Mrs. Reyes’ stare, she couldn’t help but ask, “When?”

“Tonight. Meet me by the back doors at eleven, we’ll discuss everything else then.”

“What about-”

“Bellamy already knows everything he needs to, don’t worry.” Clarke merely nodded, unsure of what to say in response. She hadn’t seen him yet today, and wasn’t entirely sure how she would fare upon seeing him now. Her stomach churned with uncertainty, nervousness - she couldn’t help but hate that he was being brought into it all.

Later, when she passed him on her way through the kitchen, eyes blurring with unshed tears as she wordlessly begged him to look at her, he wouldn’t, and she briefly wondered if this would be the downfall of whatever it was they had become. God, she hoped not.

* * *

She shivered against the cold of the night as Mrs. Reyes wrenched open the door leading from the kitchen to a concrete path marking the distance between the main residence and the guest house in which Bellamy resided. Her hands motioned for Clarke to step out first before letting the door fall shut quietly, the usual click of it absent. She glanced around despite how dimly lit the backyard was, enough so that it was difficult to see anything that wasn’t directly in front of her.

It was hard to breathe, and though she knew the cause, she tried to ignore it.

_He hadn’t even looked at her earlier._

Resisting the urge to cry suddenly became difficult, and she found herself focusing on her footing, how many steps it took to cover the length of each section of concrete before they arrived at the steps leading up to his quarters. She swallowed, breathing out heavily, before placing her hand on the metal railing and stepping onto the first stair.

She took the steps slowly, Mrs. Reyes already nearly to the top, as if she could delay the event any longer. She wished she could. Bellamy opened the door almost as soon as they’d knocked, her eyes meeting his from over Mrs. Reyes’ shoulder before she averted them, finding it difficult to look at him then.

“Come in.”

She knew it was a big deal, what they were doing, and yet, stepping into his home, for lack of better wording - his personal space - felt so much bigger. It was only one room, a bed on the far wall by the window, a shelf filled with books near the door, a table with two chairs on the other side, in front of a fridge with a counter and a sink. The only light came from a lamp in the corner, and she found herself grateful he had opted for that rather than the much brighter overhead one.

If she were unable to hide in any other way, perhaps at least her shame would be hidden by the lack of light.

Mrs. Reyes was the first to break the silence, standing near the door once it had shut.

“Thank you for doing this, Bellamy. We’ve been… having trouble. We hoped you would be able to help.” She paused, then, “Right, Offinn? Tell Bellamy thank you,” she instructed.

Clarke met his gaze, though only briefly, nowhere near long enough to try and gauge what he was feeling. Voice breaking, she told him, almost robotic, “Thank you, Bellamy.”

He nodded once in response, his usual way of doing so, before turning to Mrs. Reyes. “You’re welcome. Should we, uh-”

“I’ve talked with both of you, you know how it works.” Clarke turned to face the bed, _his_ bed, and slowly began to walk towards it, floorboards making noise with each step. “Just don’t take too long,” Mrs. Reyes warned.

She stopped in front of the bed, unable to bring herself to sit yet as she closed her eyes, opening them again in an effort to refocus. The floorboards creaked as Bellamy came closer, stopping behind her, though not close enough to touch - nowhere near close enough for that. Deciding it would be better if she sat sooner rather than later, she took purchase on the edge of the bed, hands placed awkwardly in her lap as she looked up at Bellamy, his eyes meeting hers without moving away immediately thereafter for the first time that day.

His brow furrowed, mouth pouting slightly in a way she somehow found she knew meant that he was sorry, that he didn’t wish to do this any more than she did.

She lay back against the comforter, soft against the small amount of skin it came in contact with, and tried not to freeze at the familiar sound of metal against metal echoing throughout the room, her eyes drifting up to Bellamy as he slowly undid his belt. Her head fell completely back against the material and she focused on the divots in the ceiling as he began to pull down his zipper, the sound seeming infinitely louder than it should have.

Her legs raised as though of their own accord, spreading to allow space for him between them, and she flinched at the feeling of his hands on her knees, gently urging her legs further apart so he could move in closer.

Out of view of Mrs. Reyes, both due to distance and the lack of lighting, he rubbed his thumb in gentle circles on her skin there before moving further up her thigh. She swallowed, eyes falling shut as he pulled her underwear down her legs, setting them aside - something she’d forgotten to do herself - before pushing his own down to his thighs. The hand that had previously rubbed circles against her knee moved to rest near her own, his thumb brushing her wrist as his other hand lay near her side.

He nodded, a small movement she wouldn’t have noticed otherwise had she been paying any less attention. Clarke did the same in return, exhaling as he slowly pushed into her, stopping momentarily once he was all the way in before pulling out slightly, beginning the slow movement of his hips against hers.

Somehow, although it was him inside of her, his hands at her sides, a replica of the ceremony she performed with Mr. Collins each month - it didn’t feel the same. It was in the wrong moment, she knew, but instead of wanting to push him away, she wanted to pull him closer, to relish in the feel of him against her. Not necessarily in a sexual way, no, but however she could.

His movements sped up slightly, his thumb tracing patterns against her side in an effort to comfort her, and it wasn’t long before she felt him began to lose rhythm, shuddering as he spilled inside her.

She had almost forgotten about Mrs. Reyes. Almost, until she sat up to pull her underwear back on, eyes catching on the woman still stood in the corner.

The two of them left wordlessly, but Bellamy didn’t say anything, either, and she wasn’t really sure what to make of it, her mind feeling dazed.

Once she had made it back to her room, she tried to sleep, but found that it wouldn’t come to her no matter how long she lay there. Pulling her cloak and bonnet back on, she carefully opened her door before heading towards the kitchen, carefully avoiding the floorboards she knew usually made more noise than others.

She pulled a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it up with water before leaning against the counter across from the sink and idly wondering if, perhaps, the fact that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Bellamy had played into her lack of sleep. It wasn’t the sex, no, but the feeling of wanting to see him, of wanting to be close to him nagging at her heart. She was no stranger to it, having felt it a number of times before, an ache within her chest, but this time it was of a much greater intensity.

She was no longer able to shove it down, to ignore it the way she had in the past.

Raising the glass to her lips, water gliding steadily down her throat, her eyes caught on a light in one of his windows. The glass clanked with the other dishes as she placed it back in the sink, not bothering to go upstairs in order to put her boots on before pulling open the door, stepping out into the frigid air once again.

She didn’t know why she was doing it, or whether he wanted to see her, or if he was truly awake, but she couldn’t find it within herself to turn back around, continuing up the steps before stopping in front of his door.

She felt something for him, a feeling unlike anything she’d felt before. It wasn’t easily describable, no, and it was a wonder it had taken her so long to figure it out, but she briefly wondered if he felt it, too.

He was a steadfast, never-ending stream of all things that were good in her life.

Bellamy _was_ the good in her life.

She admired his kindness, his strength, his vulnerability, but above all - she _wanted_ him, in a way she had never wanted anybody or anything else. And though it scared her, the intensity with which she found herself caring for him, the possibility that he didn’t feel the same way, she couldn’t help it.

Clarke raised her fist and knocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this will probably be longer than the 3-5 chapters I intended originally, just saying. Thoughts? Feelings?


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